


Just, but never dispassionate

by redsnake05



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-23
Updated: 2010-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:50:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redsnake05/pseuds/redsnake05
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Edmund can't help but think about <em>Her</em> and everything that goes along with that</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just, but never dispassionate

Edmund knows - he is, must be, _certain_, that few creatures that walk the earth know about his past. It's not something one speaks of lightly in Narnia; it's not a secret that others feel free to share. He's glad of that, though he knows that others that took Her service have not had their lapses, or their repentance, respected so well. When he wears his crown of gold, it sometimes feels like rope on his wrists, and he has to stop and breathe deeply. He knows that for him, unlike his siblings, this is a burden, not an honour wholly.

He tried to connect with Tumnus, the first traitor, but Tumnus was Lucy's. As she was special, so was he; he buried his dupicity so deep that no one would ever believe him of taking Her gold. Edmund, though, they would all believe it of Edmund. There were creatures enough who watched the four of them and their Court, their judgements, declarations and wars. Watched and assessed, waiting for them to fail. Narnia was not a country made for humans, after all. There were those who didn't let him forget it, and it was their eyes he felt judging him.

It wasn't like he wanted to think of Her. He'd spent most of his time with Her sticky and stupid, or else terrified. The stupidity was constant, a fixed point of humiliation in his mind. But sometimes Her image was clearer and sharper than their gold plate, or the uncomfortable pomp of his tall throne in the great chamber. Sometimes, She would whisper in his ear before he spoke a decision. Sometimes She came to him in the night, in the dark when he was alone, and he would wake the next morning sticky and ashamed. The humiliation was unchanging.

It often felt less like Edmund had grown into being a King and more like he was playing a part, desperate to keep on his mask. Charlatan, imposter, cheat, his mind said. She came to him then, sometimes. She had never despaired, merely baring her teeth fiercely and fighting on. He had never told anyone this, but when he'd brought his sword down on her wand and felt it splinter under the metal, it had hurt more than her knife in his ribs. When he thought about her in the night as he touched himself, the pain was the same.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [nor can I resist you (the passionate justice reverb)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4191165) by [templemarker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/templemarker/pseuds/templemarker)




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